


what the cat dragged in

by blackmetaldahlia



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rough Oral Sex, sex in the daredevil suit is hard guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmetaldahlia/pseuds/blackmetaldahlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s always a bit of a power trip, ordering Matt around in bed, because unless he’s in a truly pissy mood he’ll obey, instantly, no matter what. But in the suit, his stupid little horns occasionally scraping Foggy’s thighs if he bends his legs wrong, wrapped up Kevlar and metal and who knows what else making him as close to invincible as he can get? The <i>hottest</i> power trip Foggy’s ever been on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what the cat dragged in

**Author's Note:**

> More specific notes at the bottom but this is literally mostly sex, prmarily Foggy's narrative voice.

Matt has a bizarre tendency to drag new kinks into their bedroom the way a hesitant and slightly senile cat would drag in mostly-dead vermin. He sort of stumbles and rolls, maybe jerks away initially, and then plops a big fat “I think you should tie me up sometime, maybe, please, if you want, or flog me or something, please,” right in Foggy’s lap.

Luckily for one Matthew Michael Murdock, Foggy saw ‘Matt being into weird shit in bed’ coming from at least fifty miles away. Within two weeks of undergrad, Foggy had the feeling that the beacons of Minas Tirith were lit and Matt was calling for aid. Except instead of orc invasions, it was for…weird sex things.

This is a bad metaphor, and Foggy hates himself for it.

Anyways, Foggy, who is up for anything once, tries just about everything at _least_ once. Here’s what he finds out:

Matt is bad at boundaries. Both having them and understanding those of others. Once he _gets_ someone else he has no problems respecting them, but sometimes he has issues making the logical jump from “this is weird and fucked up” to “the average person probably doesn’t expect this,” possibly because he has never once in his entire life applied that logic to himself.

The ‘not having boundaries’ thing is also 100% predictable and possibly why a list of things Matt’s suggested Foggy putting in his ass would be about three feet long. Because he’s also a fucking go getter, the bastard.

Another thing he finds out is that Matt sometimes craves sex like he’ll die without it, and then he’ll beg for anything Foggy wants, just fuck him, please, please, _god_ , Foggy, and it’s lead to some of their more interesting improvising.

It’s one of those times when Matt climbs in through his bedroom window, like the absolute creep that he is, and doesn’t even take off the cowl before kissing Foggy awake. Foggy, who has fucked Matt twice that morning and once at work when Karen was getting bagels (over Matt’s desk like the blind exhibitionist he makes jokes about being), groans.

He doesn’t not _want_ sex, especially not with his ludicrously hot, quite possibly supernaturally sexually talented boyfriend, but he has work in the morning and is worried that at this rate his dick will fall off before Matt gets to the end of whatever cycle his brain works with.

“Fogs,” Matt grunts, butting his head under Foggy’s chin and whacking him with the stupid little horns, “Fogs. Slap me. Slap me. Please.”

Foggy shakes himself awake enough to roll Matt onto the bed so that he’s getting straddled, and Foggy is surprised how quickly his dick stands to attention at the way Matt in the Daredevil getup looks pinned against Foggy’s sheets.

Matt hums and tilts his head back, presenting more of his face for Foggy to work with. He has a black eye and his split lip has literally _just_ healed, but Foggy pulls his arm back and slaps Matt across the face anyways. Not hard enough to really cause any damage, but enough that what’s visible of his cheek gets a nice red handprint. Matt grunts and licks his lips before demanding “again,” and Foggy acquiesces.

“Again,” Matt says, and Foggy shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully, and Matt groans but doesn’t argue. He doesn’t in these situations. Foggy sits back, applying plenty of pressure to Matt’s lower stomach, and admires Daredevil, all red lips and stupid horns and honestly criminally perfect stubble peeking out from the ridiculous vigilante fetish crimefighting mask.

“This does it for you,” Matt says, almost drunkenly. “I can smell it. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about how hard it’s gotta be for you to feel anything through your fucking _body armor_ ,” Foggy lies, knocking on the padded chestplate. Matt grins, sharp teeth, and licks his lips again, a little flick of his tongue, like he’s tasting Foggy in the air.

“You’re _lying._ Do you want to fuck the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Foggy?” He rolls his shoulders against Foggy’s pillows and tilts his head back. “Wanna show the Devil the meaning of sin?”

“No roleplay,” Foggy mutters, watching Matt’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Shouldn’t the suit be thicker there? What the hell. “Not defiling high school drama club tonight.”

“Is it roleplay if it’s true?” Matt asks, ever the lawyer, but he drops it to ask “What is it then? Do you like feeling like you have power over me? Do you like that I’m yours, I’m yours to do whatever you want with?”

It’s hard to read his expressions in the cowl but he looks almost predatory, and Foggy slaps him again. Matt just grins and huffs out half a laugh, before rolling his body against Foggy’s bed. His hips buck just enough that Foggy feels the press of Matt’s crotch against his back, and he reaches back curiously. A cup. Of course. At least Matt has some sense of self preservation when it comes to his _dick_. Foggy considers knocking on it for good luck, but Matt pushes back against the pillows and makes an impressively needy little sound just from Foggy’s fingers _brushing_ the cup.

“You’re into this too,” Foggy whispers, narrowing his eyes despite knowing that it won’t do anything. “How much _do_ you feel through this?”

“Vibrations,” Matt chokes out. “Temperature on the, uh, red? I think? Red parts. Pressure. No actual touch, though.”

Foggy runs a hand from between Matt’s sternum down to his belly button, soft at first, and then he turns his hand and runs the side of it down _hard_ , and Matt presses up against him and chokes something out, scrambling to grab at Foggy’s arm.

“What do you want me to do, Matt,” Foggy whispers, grinding down just enough that Matt should get a good idea of what exactly _Foggy_ wants to do. It starts with F and rhymes with duck.

Matt wraps his gloved hands around Foggy’s arm and repeats the motion Foggy just did, but going a little bit lower. His hips jerk just a little bit, and Foggy is amazed once again at Matt’s outright impressive capacity for physical sensation.

“Whatever you want, whatever you’ll give me, _please_ ,” is what Matt says, and Foggy slaps his face and almost _means_ it this time.

“What do _you_ want, Matt. You. Specifically.”

Matt whines and does the hand dragging thing again.

“I want you to fuck my face,” Matt says after another couple repeats. “I want you to remind me that I’m only human, even in the suit.”  And somehow that’s both incredibly hot and heartbreaking at the same time. Of course. Matt doesn’t get to have normal motivations for his post-crimefighting sex ideas. Weirdo self-sacrificing Catholic guilt shit or something. Ugh.

He can work with it for now and try (and likely fail) to get Matt to Talk It Out later.

“How’s this?” Foggy asks as he moves his way up Matt’s body, trying to practically sit on his face, and Matt makes a strange face and nudges at Foggy’s legs.

“No, no, I have an idea, I want to try this, it’s not dangerous,” and for a moment Foggy wonders what it would be like to have a boyfriend who didn’t consider ‘it’s not dangerous’ as something reasonable to offer in bed. It’d probably be a lot of boring sex, actually.  He’ll take his weird as all hell boyfriend.

His weird as all hell boyfriend who has situated himself so that he’s laying on his back, head dangling off the end of Foggy’s bed. Oh god, he’s still wearing his boots. Rude. He’s gesturing vaguely in Foggy’s direction, and Foggy gets up and stands near Matt’s head. He reaches back and wraps his arms around Foggy’s thighs, and then freezes and moves his hands around Foggy’s boxers.

“Are you wearing something? Seriously? Take it off.”

“Pushy,” Foggy mutters, before kicking off his boxers. The red lenses are really creepy from this angle, but then Matt reaches back and grips Foggy’s thighs again. “Upside down blowjob?” Foggy asks, vaguely amazed. Matt noses at Foggy’s cock and nods.

“You should put your hands on my hips,” Matt mutters. “Hold me down.”

Foggy leans forward just enough so that he can rest some of his weight on his arms, while pinning Matt to the bed. He looks great like this, the lines of his suit accentuating everything spectacular about his musculature, plus from this angle he can’t see the horns, which is always a plus.

Matt shifts just barely, enough so that he can reach out and press his tongue against the tip of Foggy’s cock, and Foggy’s breath catches at the sensation. Matt inhales deeply and then pulls Foggy closer, fitting his mouth around Foggy like he does it for a living.

It’s honestly a bizarre sensation – he’s _very_ acquainted with the sensation of his dick resting in Matt’s mouth, but with Matt’s tongue on the bottom, and gravity assisting them both. Here, his dick rests against the top of Matt’s mouth, while his tongue works along the top. Foggy can’t think of a word to describe it beyond ‘bizarre’ – it’s absolutely enjoyable, especially when Matt seems to adjust to whatever had been holding him back, and continues on in his customary tradition of showing off the control he has over his gag reflex.

“Matt,” Foggy whispers as he feels Matt hit the base of his dick. Matt hums a little bit, and Foggy’s hips buck enough that he can _see_ Matt’s throat move in response, and Matt lets out another little hum and pushes against Foggy’s hands with the minimal purchase he has against the bed. “God, Matt, you’re so good at this,” Foggy mutters, and Matt pushes Foggy away and then drags him back, which is Murdock for ‘why aren’t you fucking my throat yet?’

Foggy exhales and then snaps his hips back and then forward, the way he knows Matt likes. Matt swallows around him, and Foggy watches the muscles in his neck tense randomly at the obstruction. Matt doesn’t even cough, just continues his calm breathing through his nose. He’s a wizard.

He slowly fucks Matt’s mouth, taking his sweet time and watching Matt get more and more tense as he gets more and more worked up but can’t do _anything_ to show it except occasionally make humming sounds and tightening his mouth around Foggy, occasionally daring to allow just a scrape of teeth.

_That_ was one of the things that _truly_ surprised Foggy – teeth on his dick was shockingly okay, especially when it was Matt. Quite possibly only when it was Matt. He has no plans to experiment with that and find out.

Foggy stops moving for a moment and traces his hands down towards Matt’s crotch, and Matt gets his feet – still in his boots, probably getting mud and gross New York puddle water on Foggy’s sheets, what the _fuck_ – under him and pushes up towards Foggy’s hands without missing a beat in his swallowing.

“Jesus Christ, Murdock,” Foggy whispers. Matt harrumphs reproachfully, but from the way his mouth pulls he’s hiding a smile. What an ass. “Can I get this off of you?”

“Mmmph,” Matt says, and Foggy has to look down at Matt’s chin to be certain that that’s a no.

“You’re gonna get cum in your suit? That’s not going to bother you?” He needs to learn to stop asking questions when Matt is physically incapable of answering, because Matt makes a frustrated sound and reaches up to squeeze Foggy’s ass a little bit harder than necessary, and then drives him back forward into his mouth.

“Okay, okay,” is what Foggy says, before pushing Matt back down – yep, those are big bulky Daredevil Boot™ prints on his sheets, disgusting – and heading towards the harsh movement Matt likes more than anything else.

Matt keeps his grip on the backs of Foggy’s thighs, so hard it feels like it might bruise, and exhales obnoxiously through his nose, directly onto Foggy’s balls, which, gross, but also an incredibly awesome sensation. Matt picks up on some sort of biological signal Foggy’s putting out, a heartbeat or a change in body heat or the smell of his sweat or something else gross and _not something to think about in bed, dammit Nelson_ , and does it a few more times, punctuating by moving to nose a little bit deeper.

“Getting close,” Foggy mutters, and Matt nods as much as he can. He always knows. Sometimes before Foggy does. “You too?” Another kind of nod. Foggy squeezes his hips and moves his hands up to press, hard, against Matt’s sides, and then down to push his legs flat again. “Hold still.” Matt falls almost limp, except for where his fingers are digging into Foggy’s thighs.

It’s always a bit of a power trip, ordering Matt around in bed, because unless he’s in a truly pissy mood he’ll obey, instantly, no matter what. But in the suit, his stupid little horns occasionally scraping Foggy’s thighs if he bends his legs wrong, wrapped up Kevlar and metal and who knows what else making him as close to invincible as he can get? The _hottest_ power trip Foggy’s ever been on.

Matt continues not to move as Foggy goes into jackhammer mode, driving himself in and out of Matt’s mouth, his red lips stretching around Foggy’s head as he pulls almost all the way out, and then back in fast enough that Matt’s throat spasms, and he worries for a moment before he feels Matt’s fingers tighten. All clear, then.

And then Matt swallows convulsively and just one of his feet twitches, and he makes a low, needy noise, and Foggy realizes that Matt came almost without moving – and Foggy’s cumming, he can feel himself tightening and then the _release_ right down Matt’s throat, and Matt still doesn’t move because _Foggy told him not to._

It’s like seeing stars, except the stars are red and Kevlar plated, and it’s like his blood is boiling, and it’s like he’s been struck by lightning, and then he’s got _all_ his weight on his arms, pushing Matt even further into the bed, because his legs have turned to pool noodles.

Matt’s making little satisfied sounds around Foggy’s softening dick, and he gets his shit together enough to pull out of Matt’s mouth – Matt moves his jaw around and something _cracks_ , and that kills Foggy’s boner the rest of the way as he flops down on the bed so that his head is by Matt’s feet. Boots.

“You okay?” he asks as Matt massages his jaw, expression unreadable.

“Yeah,” Matt replies, voice barely even a whisper. They’re in court tomorrow, if Matt loses his voice because he likes deep throating too damn much Foggy is never going to let him hear the end of it. Ever. “Stiff.”

“That’s what happens,” Foggy informs him, “when you have it open and your neck at a weird angle for an extended period of time.” He yawns, hugely, suddenly aware of just how exhausted he is. He glances at the clock. Four AM. Great.

Matt doesn’t yawn, because his ninja training included the ancient art of not succumbing to the contagiousness of yawning. He does sit up and pull the cowl off, and his black eye looks even worse than it did this morning, plus his nose is looking a little bit crooked. Foggy watches as he tilts his head left, and then right, and then sniffs.

“Did I get mud on your sheets?” he asks, cautiously, still sounding like a hundred year old chainsmoker.

“No,” Foggy says, not bothering to act like it’s not a lie. Matt makes an unreadable face and then twitches. He gets weird about everything sometimes, when he’s in one of these moods. Probably the Catholicism on top of the weird kinky godless sodomy multiple times a day. Or he doesn’t like not being aware of every single minor thing he does.

“I’m sweaty,” he finally says, almost petulantly. “And I smell.”

“So take a shower, mister summa cum laude,” Foggy says around yet another yawn. “Bathroom’s at your seven. You left sweats and one of your ‘pay attention to my giant arms’ shirts here last time.”

Matt snorts (but doesn’t deny it) and rolls off the bed, landing more gracefully than Foggy does with both vision and a full night of sleep. That latter of which he’s not getting tonight.

Next thing he knows, Matt’s shoving Foggy over and climbing so that he’s sprawled most of the way on top of Foggy, like a two hundred pound rock hard blanket that smells vaguely like blood and Foggy’s lavender ‘stress relief’ body wash. Not a good combination.

“Stop thinking,” Matt growls into the back of Foggy’s neck as he drags sheets over them with his arms and some enthusiastic wiggling. “I can hear your brain buzzing.”

“No fucking way, you lying shit,” Foggy says, too tired for a better response, and then it’s morning and Matt is doing a solid impression of a chainsaw. Also he’s drooled all over Foggy’s shoulder. They’re already twenty minutes late to the office. Fuck.

Matt tries to make up some bullshit to Karen about getting lost and ending up at Foggy’s but his voice just _goes_ halfway through. Foggy tries not to look horrified, but Karen’s grin means his efforts are unappreciated. Great.

In court, which _he’s_ doing all the speaking for, thank you Matthew, Matt passes him a note. Like they’re in middle school. Foggy kicks his leg under the table but unfolds it anyways. It says, in Matt’s spindly and barely even legible handwriting, _we should do more stuff in the suit_.

Stuff. Foggy, in court, trying to get a man off for grand larceny because he _actually_ has an identical twin that did it, flashes back to every time Matt suggested doing something new in bed, and realizes that this doesn’t even ping his weirdness scale. Also, he’s mildly turned on, and Matt knows it.

“Sure,” he agrees, evenly, and Matt’s grin is noticeably _red_.

**Author's Note:**

> Matt and Foggy get kinky in the Daredevil suit, Matt deep throats because he really fucking likes deep throating and comes untouched. Foggy tells Matt what to do, slaps him around a bit, and somewhat restrains Matt but the BDSM elements don't get much heavier than that.
> 
> Look I just really like the idea of Matt losing his voice from too much oral. It happens to the best of us. Also I might do a sequel because the original idea was Matt and Foggy doing consensual bondage with Matt in the DD suit. 
> 
> And in case you couldn't figure out the position they're in, https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/77/4a/dc/774adcfd0b48c41b1ff8ab1749cec321.jpg is a handy visual!


End file.
